St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1887-01-02

us the transfer of copywright-further pay
ments to follow as per royalty explainee in
contract. In conclusion, permit us to extend
to you our sincere congratulations.
MALLORY BROS.
A footstep drew near, an arm was wound
about mis- neck, and in another moment the
ambitious toiler was in the embrace of his
kind hostess, as she wept with sincere joy
and held him close and tight.
"My poor boy-at last, at last"
A large and brilliant audience filled the
beautiful little theater. 1t was the OPEN
ing of the season, and the work to be pro-
duced was billed as the greatest American
play written by any American author!"
Simply this, and nothing more. What
mattered it whether plain Edwin Holton
wrote it or not? The people paid their
money to see the work, to be amused,
grieved, or delighted, as the case might be-
| The man who was responsible for it's ere
| alton was nonentity so far as they were
| concerned.
AS the play progressed the interest of the
audience grew to admiration, delight, en-
| thusiasm. Presently some one cheered.
| This was the signal for an outburSt which
vented itself into one cry, and was taken
| up and echoed from the auditorium back
into the wings. The stage manager meekly
| stepped forward and thanked the multitude
in behalf of the author. The cry was re-
! peated, and Edwin Holton stepped before
the lights, ran his fingers through his flow
ing black hair, and thanked them.
Once more cheering cry broke forth with
| the tumultuOus clapping of hands, and.
| bowling and blushing, the hero of the hour
| disappeared. 1t was only second. but in
that fragment of time the name of Edward
HOlton was born, and the man had assumS
| Individuality. One heart rejoiced-one
prayerful dream full of beautiful gladness
had blown into being! One heart! Nay.
| What pale face was it which, hidden in the
box that skirted the stage, leaned forward
| for only an inStand in SpellbOund wonder.
then drew itself quickly from view with a
CLEAN upon it of untold joy and ecstacy?
A dream perhaps-a reality. forsooth.
"Come, Pearlie, let us CO." said a soft
voice, as Viola Lear took her sister by the
| hand; and amid the rustic of silk and sat
ms the sisters wendell their way into the
street.
In the career of life have noticed many
vicissitudes-many variations of human
emotion-but the heart that beat in the
| frame of the kindly Mrs. Kemble was
among the truest and best. How she
grieved when Edwin lay PROSTATE with an
| attack that followed the reaction of an
! oyertaxed brain! But was he not her boy
or-her king? And would he not get well
and be hers again as of old, cen though a
| hero newborn now, and child of the peo-
pie? So she smoothed his pillow. brushed
back the dark hair, and nursed him back to
| life and health.
Sing me a song" he said one day.
''You foolish fellow! sing?"
But he persisted, and the dear matron
sat herself at the keys. The words rang
out with their accustomed harmony:
| "Only a smile I ask of thee, my dearling,
Guiding me onward through the weary day;
Only word of kindness, little darling,
Making lifes path happy, f1ow'ry way
The soft, sweet summer breeze, mingled
with the odor of forget-me-nots, waited in
at the door toretastes of heavenly tidngs
and joy. The dreamer lay as one in death.
Presently the moon rose and shed its efful-
gence full upon the sleeper. His eyes
opened wide, and an apparition stood be-
fore him.
Il come, my darling; let me guide thy
weary way"
He held out his arms. His song had beer
heard, and my heroine had stolen in at the
door with the soft summer breeze.